Adjusting
by Lucy Wiggin
Summary: Dean's trying to develop new skills. It's not easy. Blind!Dean 'verse. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Adjusting (four bedrooms and a back yard).

Blind! Dean 'verse. Other stories and reading order can be found in my profile. Enjoy, and please leave a review.

"Dude," said Dean, "you're out of your mind." Sitting in the chair near the window, Dean tilted his head so he could get that small glimpse of light from his left eye. It was the only remnant of his sight, and he cherished it.

"It's the only nice place I could fine in such short notice," replied Sam.

A nice place. Winchesters didn't do nice places. They did crappy motels and cheap apartments, and never stayed too long.

"It's a waste of money, that's all I'm sayin'," insisted Dean. "I mean, four bedrooms? Are we opening our own motel?"

"That will be a very small motel," observed Sam, unfazed. "Unless you want the guests to camp at the back yard."

"Sam," Dean tried again, "we don't _need_ a back yard. Just like we don't need four bedrooms."

"It's not about needing, Dean. It's about wanting. Besides, I already paid for six months in advance."

He paid in advance. And people said Dean was the irresponsible one. "Fine, Uri Geller. But if we'll run out of money, it will all be your fault."

* * *

"We're here," said Sam as the Impala slowed down.

Dean had no idea where 'here' really was, but he didn't say that. Instead, he opened his door as soon as the car stopped, but remained sitting. He could hear Sam opening his own door.

"Dean? Everything ok?" Sam was at Dean's side now, judging from the closeness of his voice.

No, Dean wanted to say. He was blind, he was scarred, and he could hear the sounds of kids playing nearby. When the only way to make it to your new home is to cling to your brother's arm, you know that things aren't ok.

"Yeah," he said roughly, standing up and putting his hand on the top of the car for balance, then slamming the door.

"They're looking, aren't they?" He asked Sam, who took his arm and started leading him, slowly.

"So what?" asked Sam.

He didn't like being a circus show, that's what.

"Nothing. Let's go inside."

* * *

"It's zero-eight-minus, Dean," said Sam, "not plus. Let's try again, ok?" Sam took Dean's hand and directed him to the right key. They had been doing that for a while now, since Sam finished installing the voice program.

"Sam, I don't need the damn thing," said Dean, taking his hand out of Sam's. "It's not like I'm going to write anything."

"You don't know that," replied Sam, "besides, that thing is mostly for reading. You'll scan papers and the program will read them to you." Sam was talking at that tone he adopted whenever Dean was a bit slow on the uptake, and that pissed Dean even more than his stunning lack of success.

"I can't scan, Sam. Dammit, I didn't even know you bought a scanner till you mentioned it."

"_Oh_," there was guilt in Sam's voice, "sorry. It came with the computer, and we'll just have to practice it, too. I did some research, and _lots_ of blind people work this way."

And if _lots _of blind people worked that way, obviously he should, too. Dean got the message. However, he was willing to bet that all those people have been blind longer than him.

He couldn't even find his way around the overly-big house Sam rented without getting lost, but Sam had bought a whole bunch of supposedly blind-friendly gadgets, and was determined to work with Dean until he'd know how to use each and every one.

"I'm taking a break, ok?" Said Dean, standing up and trying not to stumble. He reached with his hand to feel the wall. There were five steps from the computer table to the door of his new room.

"_Dean_…" Sam began.

"I'm not mad, Sam. I…need some space, okay?" Dean didn't have to see Sam's face to know he had that kicked-puppy expression written all over it. _Great_.

* * *

Dean was sitting in what he was fairly sure was the middle of their back yard. He had cut out a straw of grass, and was rubbing it between his fingers. He didn't know exactly how he got there. Worst – he didn't know how to get back. He should have stayed near the fence, but he had that sudden, stupid burst of rebellion, and now he was stuck.

"Hi, Dean," a female voice called. _Lori_. He could hear her steps on the grass, and then heard the small 'thump' as she sat down.

"Sam said you're out here. What are you doing, all alone?" She asked curiously.

"I'm…not so sure," said Dean.

"Does it have something to do with Sam's long face?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of," repeated Lori.

"We didn't fight or anything, if that's what you're thinking. It's just that...I think he wants _Daredevil _for a brother," said Dean. The straw was completely ruined by now, and he tossed it away from him.

"I'm sure he doesn't," said Lori, "I mean, _Ben Affleck_? And that suit?"

Dean laughed. "Well, not literally…just to make me the most well-adjusted blind person in the world."

"Call me crazy," said Lori, "but that doesn't sound that bad." Dean could hear her shifting positions.

"_Being _well adjusted is fine; it's the road there that can drive a person insane. I can't even find the freakin' keyboard keys. Those morons who show blind people in the movies? They should try it themselves," said Dean, "maybe then they'd realize that nobody reads Braille two days after his injury."

"So, are you frustrated because _Sam_ wants you to be well-adjusted, or because _you _want to be able to read Braille, work your computer, and fight crime?"

"Forget I said anything. Can we talk about something else?" Asked Dean. He'd be damned if yet another person would start nagging him about his _feelings_.

"Ok," said Lori, and for a moment Dean thought to apologize, but decided that would only bring to more emo talk.

"Let's talk about what you said about the keyboard keys."

"Oh, that," Dean said, gravely. "Sam bought that expensive voice program, and he wants me to use it." He sighed, thinking about all the money that had gone to waste.

"But you're having troubles finding the keyboard keys?"

"Yeah." Agreed Dean. Even in the old days, typing was a pretty slow process for him. Sam was the computer-oriented guy in the family.

"Blind typing…" murmured Lori, and Dean wondered what she had in mind.

"You know," she said at last, "there are lots of programs that teach you how to blind-type."

One thing he could say for Lori: She was practical; however, that wasn't going to work.

"Lori, you have to _see_ to know which keys you're going to type."

"I'll read them for you," said Lori, as if she solved all the world's problems.

."You'll stand behind me and read me the letters?"

"I plan on sitting, but yeah."

"You sure about that?" asked Dean. "It'll be boring."

"Let me worry about that, okay?" answered Lori.

Dean hesitated.

"Come on," said Lori, "if it doesn't work, at least you'd be able to tell yourself you tried."

"_Ha._" She had a point there. Hell, it wasn't like he had anything better to do. And it might cheer Sam up, to see him practicing.

"Let's go inside," said Dean, getting up. He could hear Lori getting up as well, and reached so he could get hold of her arm for the way back.

_At least he didn't have to ask Sam to save him from their own back yard._

-END-


	2. Plans

Title: Plans (Adjusting, part two)

Words: about 700

Pairing: None

Characters: Sam, Dean.

Disclaimer: Not mine

A/N: Part of my Blind!Dean 'verse, takes plans right after adjusting.

Summary: You can't hide forever

* * *

**  
"Being a ghost buster isn't one of those professions parents wish for their kids. First of all, it's dangerous. Second: the payment's crap. Third: you're likely to end up either in prison or in a nut house. So, you're not likely to hear a mother saying with pride: _'Molly's a doctor, Johnny's a _lawyer_, and Mark hunts ghosts.' _**

** But, no matter how crappy the job is, or how much trouble it gets you in, ghosts still need to be busted, and I'm the one who bust 'em. James Harrison, professional supernatural hunter, at your service." **

Taken from _Saving People, Hunting Things_, by Dean Winchester

* * *

"You know, you don't have to do that anymore," said Dean one evening. He was listening to the TV while Sam, he could tell by the tapping of the keyboard, was working on his laptop. 

"Do what?" asked Sam. The tapping stopped.

"That," Dean gestured with his hand at their house, "staying with me all freakin' day. I know where you put everything, and I promise not to light the gas or anything while you're gone. You should…I don't know, get a life."

"Who are you?" asked Sam, "William Shatner? In case you didn't notice, I _have_ a life."

Dean felt for the remote. The second button from the left lowered the volume. He pressed it a few times, until the TV noise became only a whisper.

"Dude, staying with your blind brother at home all day? That's a poor excuse of a life. You keep the cooking and cleaning, Sammy Junior is gonna fall right off you."

"I'm not going to respect that sexist, outdated opinion with an answer." Sam said with dignity.

"See?" said Dean, "you're PMS-ing already."

"Shut up," said Sam, eloquently.

"Don't tell your big brother to shut up, Sammy." Dean's big brother authority had been severely damaged since…well, since Sammy hit puberty. Those three (ok, four) extra inches Sam had on him didn't help. "All I'm saying is that this is your chance for that apple-pie life. We aren't hunting anymore, and you're playing Robin Hood with the casinos, so that part's okay. You can go back to school.

"I can," Sam agreed, "but I don't want to."

Dean opened his mouth, closed it.

"Don't look so surprised," Sam's voice was amused, "people change."

Do they? Dean wasn't so sure. What happened to Sam's 'being a person again' talk?

"_Ok_," said Dean, "if you don't want to go back, then what do you want to do?"

Silence.

"I'm…not sure," said Sam, "In the mean time, we have more important problems to deal with - what do you want for dinner?"

"Pizza?" Dean said hopefully.

"No greasy food, man. It's bad for you."

Yep, Sammy Junior would be coming off any day now.

* * *

Sam always made plans for the future. By the time he was twelve, he was already planning on leaving home and getting a place of his own, away from spirits and poltergeists and dad. After that, he was planning on getting good grades while finally gathering the courage to ask that tall, cute blonde from his psychology class out for a date.

After that… he planned for law school, marriage, a house in a suburban with a white picket fence.

Then the only plan was revenge. Then it slowly changed to keeping his stupid, stubborn, Big Damn Hero of a brother alive, Then the plans stopped, and Sam had no idea what to do next.

Sam knew Dean was right. Not about…certain organs. About the 'getting a life' part. It was that he didn't know what kind of life he wanted. Technically, the hunt was over, but it didn't feel that way, like the job was done.

Of course it would be nice to finally get that degree, but going back to school seemed…odd. Universities were full of people who didn't have a clue. Take Lori, for example. The girl's biggest problem was her next exam. Yes, Sam could fit back into the mold if he wanted to, God knows he faked normal admirably well.

But…maybe it was time to stop pretending.

END

Reading order:

Volunteering Work

Problems and Solutions

Future and Progress

Adjusting (four bedrooms and a back yard)

Plans

Everyday Life


	3. Family, Duty, Honor

**Title: Family, Duty, Honor (Adjusting, part three).**

**Words: about 1250**

**Pairing: None, gen.**

**Rating: PG-13 for language.**

**Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**A/N: Part of my Blind!Dean 'verse. Title of this chapter is taken form George Martin's book, **_**A Song of Ice and Fire.**_

**Feedback: Love it.**

* * *

**"You can't **_**make **_**somebody hunt. You can't buy him – there's nothing to buy him with. You can force him, but that won't last.**

**Call it a noble obligation, or an unhealthy interest in blowing shit up and setting things on fire, but a hunter becomes one because he wants to."**

Taken from _Saving People, Hunting Things_, by Dean Winchester.

Bobby called and asked to come and visit them, all the way from the junk yard to the sleepy suburban where they lived. Sam had to admit he was grateful. Usually, a knock on their door meant that Lori came to visit, or that the delivery guy brought groceries from the supermarket.

In the _before _days, Sam wasn't that bothered by their isolation. Dean, the occasional e-mail from a friend, and the people they met while at work were more than enough. The lack of normality used to bother him – most people had friends to visit, family obligations, etc. etc. – but ghost hunters (the job description was a dead give-away) weren't normal.

The _after_ days, though…

The Demon was gone, but Sam had found that revenge didn't taste as sweet as he thought it would. He wondered…maybe the price was too high. Yeah, technically, they both made it out alive, and more-or-less in one piece. But there's life and there's _life_. There was the _before _Dean and the _after_ Dean, who reminded Sam more of a shadow than of his big brother. He could recognize the basic shape, but the details were blurry. Dean spoke less, wouldn't leave the house, and seemed to have lost weight.

The old Dean used to spend _decades_ in the bathroom, fixing his spiky hair. The new Dean's hair was gel-free, and longer than ever. The old Dean used to flirt with anything with breasts. The new Dean remained quiet while Lori was reading to him, at most making a smart-ass remark about the material.

It was, according to the articles Sam had read, the grieving stage. The new handicapped person was supposed to grieve for his lost organ and/or function, and it was perfectly normal. However, none of the articles had mentioned how long that stage was supposed to last. Honestly, Sam didn't give a damn about psychological theories. He just wanted his big brother back.

* * *

"So," said Bobby, "how are you guys doin'?"

"Pretty good," replied Sam, shaking's Bobby's hand. Dean, who stood next to them, put his hand out, and Bobby shook it as well, adding a pat on Dean's back. Okay, thought Sam, 'pretty good' was an exaggeration, but they were doing…well, they were _alive_.

"You've got yourself a nice place here."

"Yeah," Dean roughly agreed. The way he said that, one would think they had committed a capital crime. "It has a back yard and everything."

Sam held back a sigh.

* * *

They were sitting in the living room for a while now, talking and drinking beer. 

"And then," said Dean, "Madame Iritosky here said that he managed to open and close the bathroom door with his mind..."

"Madame Iritosky?" asked Sam, "don't tell me you started _making up_ psychics' names just to annoy me, Dean."

"I didn't!" said Dean, "she's a psychic in that book Lori read to me, _To Say Nothing of the Dog._"

_Huh_. Sam was pretty sure that Dean was reading – well, hearing - more books now than he had read before his injury. Strange world.

"Who's this Lori girl?" asked Bobby. "Your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, Bobby," said Dean, sobering up, "the girls are all lined up outside the house to date the blind guy. You must have missed them on your way in."

"Just askin'," said Bobby.

"She's a Good Samaritan. The hospital put my name in one of those social involvement project's lists."

He didn't, Sam noticed, mentioned the first girl from the same project, the one who he ran out of the room after she tried to read to him from the Bible.

"Oh," said Bobby, and that closed the subject.

Then, Bobby's face went even more serious than usual - that was never good. "Guys, I wasn't very honest with you…"

Sam straightened up a bit, tensing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Bobby, slowly, "that I came here to ask you a big favor."

Sam knew what that was about, or at least, he thought he did. "You want us – me – to work a job," he said, and could see the way Dean stiffened. A job…that didn't sound too bad. But how could he leave Dean alone? Even for a few days? His brows furrowed.

"Not _a _job, Sam," said Bobby, his face serious. "You see, there aren't too many of us hunters. Never were. "Now your dad's gone, and Dean ain't hunting anymore…"

"Somebody has to fill in," completed Sam.

"Exactly," replied Bobby. "You got rid of a very big bastard, but that doesn't mean evil isn't still out there."

"Well, Sam won't be the one 'filling in'," said Dean, "Because he's done hunting. Sorry, Bobby, we're retired. Both of us."

"I can't, Bobby," said Sam.

"See?" asked Dean. "Sam doesn't want to hunt."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Um…I didn't say I don't want to. I said I can't."

"Why?" asked Bobby, exactly when Dean said "WHAT??"

"I was thinking about going back to hunting…" Sam didn't finish the sentence. "You said it once yourself, Dean," he said instead, "there's always going to be something to hunt."

"Sammy," said Dean, "you don't _want _to be a hunter. You said that a million times. All those talks about going back to Stanford and being a person again."

"I told you, man, people change," replied Sam. He _had_, anyway. He finally got what it was that drove the old Dean from one gig to another, even though he had to live in motel rooms, eat lousy food, and risk his life on a regular basis_. Saving people_. And Sam had a home base now, and a new power to exercise. And maybe… maybe he just wanted to be like his big brother.

But he couldn't leave Dean alone.

"Okay," said Dean, "so let's say you do want to hunt. What's stopping you?"

Was Dean really going to make him say it? Wondered Sam. Didn't he understand that even if he could bring himself to hunt without his brother, he couldn't leave him alone?

"Dean…"

"_Oh_," said Dean. "Don't worry, dude, you don't have to say it…you don't want to leave your cripple brother alone."

"Dean," said Sam, almost in a plea, "you _can't see_." Damn that demon and damn that last battle and damn his revenge that made Dean that way.

Dean got up and put his hand on the wall. "I hate this," he said, and the desperation in his voice made Sam want to scream. It wasn't supposed to end up like that..._he_ was supposed to pay the price, not Dean. Dean made his way out of the room, and they could hear a door slamming.

* * *

Sam walked Bobby to his truck. 

"I can't…I can't leave him, Bobby," said Sam as they stood near the vehicle. "He has those nightmares, about everything that happened, and somebody has to be there to wake him up. Besides, what if something will happen? Who's going to take care of him then? He's _blind_"

"Never said it's an easy decision to make, Sam," said Bobby, "or that hunting comes with life insurance." He patted Sam's shoulder. "Your old man raised you right, to make the right decisions. Whatever you decide, it's gonna be okay with me."

-END-


	4. Heavy

Title: Heavy

Words: about 1300

Pairing: None, gen.

Rating: PG-13 or soft R for bad language.

Characters: Sam, Dean.

Disclaimer: Not mine

Warnings/ Notes: Blind!Dean 'verse. Even more angst than usual.

* * *

Dean has been lying on his bed for hours, unable to fall asleep. He obviously had gotten it wrong, from beginning to end. He could have looked for dad on his own, but no - he wanted Sam to come with him, so they could shoot some scary sons of bitches together. At the back of his brain, he was certain that Sam was going through that teenage rebellion thing, and that, eventually, he'd sober up and realize that a_ hunter_ didn't belong with those preppie kids. 

But Sam was never much for the hunt, even before Stanford. He wanted to do his homework, spend time in extra-curriculum activities…all those things that made Dean wonder if the real Sam was switched at birth. He didn't get the whole _normality_ thing back when Dad was alive, but he got it now, sort of.

Dean lifted his hands up like scales. On the right scale, there were a degree from an IV league university and marrying a hot blond. On the left scale, there was…lots of shit. He let his hands sink back onto the mattress.

Sam could still make it, Dean thought. Maybe not the same way as before, and probably not the same university, but he could still get that degree, go to law school, etc. etc. The kid was damn smart, good-looking (in his geeky way) and knew how to fit in. Only these days, Sam had his big brother to consider.

He was a liability. As long as he was around, Sam would never fit in again, because _Dean _never fitted in, and Sam was stuck with him, blindness and ruined face and lack of manners

* * *

All right, thought Dean, as he stumbled for the third time. Maybe that wasn't his most brilliant idea. He thought he had it figured out, more or less. He had called a cab company the day before, after Sam went to bed, and asked a cab for 6:00 AM. He got up at 5:30, packed up what he could find, and pulled out his Real Emergency money. He never thought that walking the straight line he remembered from the first day would be so hard without Sam's arm to guide him. He straightened himself and kept walking, his hands stretched out, until he reached what had to be a gate. 

"You Winchester?" Dean heard an uncertain voice as he felt for the handle.

"Yeah," replied Dean, opening the gate. Gritting his teeth, he added, "say, can you help me to the car?"

"You sure about that, pal? Because I have to say, you don't look up for a ride. How about I'll help you back inside, ha?"

"_I'm fine,_" said Dean quickly. Why couldn't the idiot just help him and shut up?

"My aunt is waiting for me at the bus station," he assured the driver.

"If you're sure," said the driver, taking him by the shoulder.

* * *

Sam woke up with a bad feeling. From outside the window, he could hear a car's engine, probably one of their neighbors wanting to get a head start. 

The clock showed 6:04 AM, and Sam was tempted to go back to sleep, but the _something_ _wasn't right _feeling refused to go away. Groaning, He got up and shoved his feet into his slippers. _Just a quick tour around the house, and back to bed._

Dean's room was right next to his, and he opened the door slowly, careful not to wake his brother. He shouldn't have bothered, though, because room was empty. The closet and the drawers were open, as if someone was in such a hurry he didn't have the time to tidy things up, was trying to find things without being able to see them, or both.

"Damn!"

Sam moved his hand in his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. Panic wasn't going to do him any good. He should have known this would happen, really. Dean took off, on his own, to God knows where, God knows how long ago.

Sam grabbed his wallet, cell phone and car keys, and ran outside. Dean was nowhere to be seen. Sam doubted that Dean would just wander aimlessly around the neighborhood, though. He probably had some sort of a plan how get away. Sam tried Dean's cell - no answer.

It shouldn't be that hard to find him – a blind person, without anything or anyone to guide him, would be very noticeable. However, Dean could be practically anywhere by now, and what good would it be people noticing him, if Sam had no idea where he went?

He dialed another number. "Bobby, have you heard from Dean?" He asked without introductions.

"Not since I visited you two," said Bobby, "is something wrong?"

"He's gone," said Sam. "Took off while I was asleep. Let me know if you hear from him, okay?"

"Sure thing. Let me know when you find him, so I can kick his ass."

"I'm planning on doing the ass-kicking myself, but thanks." Sam hung up. Think, he told himself. Dean had to have some meaning of transportation, and he _had_ heard a car a while ago… a cab, perhaps?

After calling five cab companies, and lots of bullshiting, Sam finally got to talk to the driver who drove Dean ("Got messed up in Iraq, you're saying? That Goddamn place. Thought he looked odd, scars and all that. I dropped him at the central bus station.")

Still wearing his pajama and slippers, Sam started the car.

* * *

Sam was never as relieved as at the moment he located Dean from across the street, standing in front of the bus station and looking terribly lost. Without thinking, he reached out with his power and wrapped it around Dean's waist, immobilizing him. 

"Fuck!" The few people at hearing range all turned.

"Damn right," murmured Sam as he ran across the street. He replaced his mental hold with a firm grasp of Dean's arm.

"Sam," said Dean in annoyance – _he_ was annoyed! – "get off me."

Sam ignored him. "Dean," he said, breathless, "what the fuck?"

Dean shook Sam's hand off.

"Well, Sam," said Dean, "I'm," he stopped for a dramatic emphasis, "joining a rock band." He chuckled, "either that or the circus…"

"Would you be serious for one second?"

Dean lost his smirk. "Sam, I'm doing you a favor here."

"Dean!"

"Dude, I know my name, stop saying it."

"You're an idiot."

"Oh, Sammy. You say the sweetest things."

"Where did you think you were going?"

"Um…"

"You don't even know, do you?" asked Sam.

"Of course I know," said Dean.

"_Where_?"

"Bobby's junk yard. Thought he might want to ease your burden, or something."

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders and shook him. "You. Are. Not. A. Burden. Get that? He began thinking only a driller would get those words through Dean's thick skull.

"Saying something doesn't make it true, Sam," Dean sighed.

"Well, that doesn't need saying to make it true, because it was already true before, you ass!"

Dean sighed. "Whatever."

Sam was starting to feel, other than angry and worried, cold. His pants and t-shirt weren't up to such a long stay outside.

"Dean, can we talk about this at home? I'm freezing here."

Dean kept quiet for a moment, and then sighed again. "I guess you're not going to let me take that bus?"

"Not a chance," replied Sam.

"And if I tell you that it's the best thing to do?" asked Dean.

"Then I'll tell you that you're wrong," said Sam.

Dean's hand took hold of one of Sam's, which was still on his shoulder.

"Wouldn't want you to catch a cold, Sammy…let's go back to suburbia."


	5. Hunter of the Damned

**Title: Hunter of the Damned**

**Words: Around 2,000.**

**Rating – PG or PG-13 for language. Gen.**

**Characters: Sam, Dean, OC (Lori)**

**Summary: You gotta set free what you want just to bring it back.**

* * *

_"The courtroom and the classroom, were the places I belonged  
But ancient evil came and made me battle the unknown …_

_With cross and fire, stake and sword,  
I rove a blasted land  
Now I am Van Helsing  
The hunter of the damned"_

**Hunter of the Damned**_ by Michael Longcor._

"Okay, Dean," Sam said. "Talk to me, man." They were sitting across from each other in the living room, and he was glaring so hard at Dean, he was sure it made _some_ effect on him.

Dean kept his silence, but his expression was all 'We're men, we're Winchesters, and we _do not_ talk about it.'

"You know I can be stubborn, right?" Sam hoped that his tone said 'We're men, we're Winchesters, and we're going to talk about this, even if I have to nag you for all eternity.'

More silence. _Me too_.

Sam decided to switch tactics. Getting Dean to talk required more than just being just stubborn. One had to be stubborn _and_ sneaky. After so many years, Sam could write the _'Getting Dean to Talk for Dummies'_ guide.

"So, you were just going to leave? You prefer _Bobby_ to your own brother?" Guilt-tripping, Sam mused, was low, but effective.

"You know it's not like that," murmured Dean, face half-buried between his palms

"All I know," said Sam, "is that you snuck out of the house and tried to reach South Dakota."

"I was trying to do you a favor, _moron_."

Was there a hardware store around? Because Sam _really_ needed that driller.

"Oh, so that's your idea of a favor? Disappearing like that? Because I got to tell you, most people wouldn't consider running away from your _brother_ such a favor."

"I wasn't 'running away'," said Dean with dignity. "I'm an adult, last time I checked. I was just…relocating myself. Besides, I was going to call once I get to Bobby."

Sam rubbed his temples. "Did you think that would be _before_ or _after_ my heart attack?"

Dean snorted. "Stop being such a drama queen."

"You could have been hit by a car!" Sam was practically screaming. "You could have been kidnapped, mugged, murdered…Everybody out there has the advantage on you."

Sam saw Dean's face clouding. "Don't you think I know that? I know I'm helpless, okay? I get it. That doesn't mean you have to spend the rest of your life protecting me."

Dean still didn't get it, thought Sam. "Wouldn't you have done the same for me?" he asked.

"Not the same," said Dean.

"How come?"

"I'm the older. That means that I'm always right, and that I'm the one who should look after you, Sammy. It's the first rule in the big brothers handbook."

Sam sighed. "You do remember I'm four inches taller than you, right? That hasn't changed since you got hurt."

"Three!" Dean responded immediately.

"Liar. I've been four inches taller than you since I was seventeen, and you're still in denial."

"Three. That's my version and I'm sticking to it. Besides, I potty-trained you."

If Sam wasn't so pissed, he would have laughed. "That was what, twenty-three years ago?"

"Still counts."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does."

Sam threw his hands in the air. "You're impossible, you know that? Look, I know what you're thinking."

"Oh, so you're a mind-reader now?"

"Don't have to be. Like you said, you're my big brother. I _know_ you. You still think that I'm going after that white picket fence, and you're the only one keeping me away from going back to being Joe College." By the expression on Dean's face, Sam definitely got it right, and he went on.

"I already told you, I've changed. Even if you weren't hurt so badly…I wouldn't have left you or the hunting. All the people out there, who don't know anything about angry spirits and demons that are evil just to be evil? They need help, and I can help them far more as a hunter than a lawyer."

"_Huh_."

"_Huh_," repeated Sam. "That's all you have to say?"

"You want to hunt?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"But you can't…because you can't leave me."

"Dean…"

"It doesn't matter what life you want, Sam," said Dean harshly, "I'm still in your way."

* * *

Two days of very disturbing quiet. Dean was so bored, he worked for hours on his computer. And no, trying to make amends to Sam had nothing to do with that. He was adjusting to his new situation, that's all. He heard steps behind him, and turned his head.

"Dean?"

"Yeah"

"Look, I was thinking…" Sam began. Each time his little brother said something like that, Dean was tempted to take cover. But hell, he'd take Sam's voice over the damn computer every day. Not that he'd tell him that.

"About what?"

"About…everything. Our situation. You were right."

"I'm always right," said Dean. Really, Sam should have figured it out by now. "What was I right about?"

Sam hesitated a bit. "I was kind of…avoiding life, since The Demon. But I'm not going to, not anymore. I figured that I can go back hunting, part time– and we'll get Lori to move in and stay with you. So you see," Sam said in a light tone, "you're hardly in the way."

"Dude, Lori? How do we get _her_ to move in _here_?"

"It shouldn't be a problem." By the tone of Sam's voice, Dean knew he already had everything worked out, at least in his head.

"She lives in the dorms, right? We'll offer her free boarding and a good salary…trust me, it's a good deal, for her and for us."

Dean was still trying to wrap his mind around the 'Lori moving in' concept. "Maybe she already got a job, ever thought of that? Student by day, stripper by night…"

"Funny."

"Ok, so she probably isn't," admitted Dean, "but maybe she's a private tutor, something like that."

"Sam, I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why not? Everything okay between you two, right? Please, tell me you didn't piss her off."

"Everything's good, and I didn't piss her off. Why would I do that? Don't answer that; I was being rhetorical." He and Lori got along fine, even if he didn't like the _idea_ of being good-smaritanned. That wasn't the problem.

"Sam, she doesn't have a clue about what we're into – hell, if she ever come across a ghost, she'd question it about the deep psychological reasons that pushed it to stay behind, and if it had anything to do with its traumatic childhood."

Sam laughed. "I don't think she's studying clinical psychology, man. Besides, what do you want to do, post an ad in I can call Jo, if you want…"

"Jo?" repeated Dean, "tell me you're joking."

"I hate breaking it to you, but we don't know that many people."

Well, that was true. But that didn't mean that Dean was willing to live with _Jo_ under the same roof.

"You'd hate living with Jo," Dean said quickly, just to remind Sam he wouldn't be the only one to suffer the consequences of such a rushed move. What was next, moving in with Missouri?

"Hey, I'll be out hunting most of the time. _You_, on the other hand…" Sam didn't finish the sentence, undoubtedly wanting Dean to come up with possible scenarios on his own.

"What's the problem?" asked Sam. "Are you afraid that she'd throw out food from the fridge before it had its chance with natural selection?"

Truth was, Dean hadn't even thought that far, but now that Sam mentioned it…women did have strange habits. Keeping the toilet's sit down, deep conversations, crying… Who knew what they did when you actually lived with them?

"Hey, when it comes to my nutrition, I believe in the survival of the fittest," announced Dean. "I only eat what won the fridge's evolutional race."

Sam huffed. "Yeah, you and the mold."

"That's reason they make antibiotic out of mold, genius. It eats the germs. And by the way – what are we going to tell her about why you have to hit the road half the time?"

"Exactly what we told her at the hospital. I'm a private investigator, so I have to travel a lot, and I don't want you to be on your own while I'm on the road."

Sam obviously had an answer for anything…and Dean decided to let him have his way, for a change.

"Fine. You know what? Call and ask her. I bet she'd laugh in your face."

* * *

"…**If we stayed in a place longer than a week, Danny was due to make friends. ****He had to lie to them, of course. Mom died in a fire caused by a shortened ****electric circle, and Dad was a salesman, so he had to travel a lot. **

**Me, I kind of gave it up after a while. What's the point of telling of putting time and effort into lies, just to leave and start the process all over again? I tried telling the truth once, when Danny was already in Harvard. She said I was nuts."**

Sam left early in the morning, about to hunt what was probably a vengeful spirit. They said their goodbye in front of the house, near Sam's new truck. Part of Dean resented the idea of sending Sam out there on his own. It was a dangerous world – he should know. But he kept quiet, because Sam had enough troubles leaving him as it was, and Dean learned that, well…you gotta set free what you want just to bring it back.

"Be careful, okay?" he said instead. "Watch out for yourself." Okay, he thought, if Sam was going to leave, he'd better do it now, before the so-called simple goodbye would become Hallmark-worthy.

"You, too," said Sam, patting his back in something suspiciously close to a hug.

"See you in a few days," said Lori, and Dean wondered if she thought they were making too much a deal of a simple investigation trip. He stepped a bit away from Sam and tried to smile. "Have fun."

"I'll call as soon as I get there," promised Sam. Dean could hear him opening the truck's door.

"I know," he said, nodding, and then he heard the door closed, the engine coming to life.

"He's going to be fine," said Lori, as the engine's sound became more and more distant.

"I know," repeated Dean. Dad and he trained the kid themselves, after all. Damn it, he wished Dad could see that, their Sammy hunting on his own. He would have been proud.

Speaking of Dad…there was one other family member he had neglected.

"Lori," said Dean, "would you mind taking me to the garage?"

* * *

"Hi, girl," said Dean, tracing the Impala's lines with his fingers. "How have you been? Sorry for not driving you anymore…wish I could. But don't worry, you're going be okay. Who knows, you might live to see old age." He patted the roof, and felt sorry for his girl. She was meant to tear the open road, with good ol' rock n' role blasting and engine roaring.

"She's pretty," said Lori from behind him.

"She's a 67' Chevy Impala," said Dean, "been everywhere, seen everything. Well, except for the Grand Canyon."

"Why not the Grand Canyon?"

Dean shrugged, "never got the chance."

"Well, Grand Canyon or not, it sounds like she's been through enough for one car," said Lori.

"She was," agreed Dean. His hand was still resting on the roof, just where it connected with a window. "She's part of the family, you know."

"Impala Winchester?" asked Lori, and Dean chuckled.

"Yeah. I guess you can call her that. She had as much action as we did."

"Maybe it's time for her to rest a bit."

"Maybe…" said Dean, "at least for a while."

END

A/N Well, that's it! I hope you enjoyed reading this part of my little 'verse. Please leave a review.


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